


A Devil Between Us

by skyline



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part isn’t the noises; the angry groans that Jay Garrick pulls from Harrison Wells’s throat, or the slap of flesh on flesh. It’s not the way their hands brand each other’s hips, possessive and bruising, either. </p><p>The worst part is the way that Barry remembers this, a different man with the same face, doing those exact things to him with his lips and his tongue and his teeth, fingertips tracing over Barry’s sternum in time with his rapid-fire, hummingbird heartbeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Devil Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Man, go without writing smut for two years and suddenly you can't figure out how to do it anymore. So this fic is sadly lacking in that. But it's still got some, uh, gratuitous mentions of it, so the rating is jic.

So, what starts out as a normal Wednesday goes haywire in the blink of an eye.

Barry’s used to that. Normal is a friend he parted ways with a while back, and mostly he’s made his peace with it.

This, though. This is different.

This is skin for ages and the salt-slick of sweat, pooling between two bodies. It’s familiar – the tilt of a head, the exposed stretch of a throat, the way hands work across hips – and it’s not, sex always taking on a different, more forbidden sheen when Barry isn’t the one involved in it.

He never meant to walk in on this.

The worst part isn’t the noises; the angry groans that Jay Garrick pulls from Harrison Wells’s throat, or the slap of flesh on flesh. It’s not the way their hands brand each other’s hips, possessive and bruising, either.

The worst part is the way that Barry remembers this, a different man with the same face, doing those exact things to him with his lips and his tongue and his teeth, fingertips tracing over Barry’s sternum, in time with his rapid-fire, hummingbird heartbeat.

He thought he was over it. He thought that he’d let go of Eobard Thawne. That in forgiving him, he’d managed to let go.

Barry has never been so wrong.

* * *

 

“Barry?” Caitlin asks. Sweetly, because practically everything she does puts her in the running for sainthood. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sure. Fine. I am. Absolutely fine.” Barry does a really good job of nearly fidgeting his coffee mug right out of his own hand. Super reflexes save the day. Again.

“Right,” Caitlin agrees, worrying her lower lip. “Only. You seem distracted.”

“No. I’m. Distracted isn’t…what I am.”

“Convincing,” Caitlin tells him.

“Let him be, Snow.” Dr. Wells’s voice shivers down Barry’s spine, his footsteps thudding into the room. “He’ll figure it out.”

“Dr. Wells.” She smiles, genuinely pleased to see him in a way that no one else in the lab ever is.

Barry’s pulse is ratcheting high, even for him. He asks, “Where’s Jay?”

“Like I care,” Wells scoffs.

Caitlin blushes, busying herself with a stack of papers and offering to find Jay, if Barry wants. Barry does not want, but he lets Caitlin go for it anyway, because she’s cute when she’s crushing on someone, and she deserves to be happy.

Barry wants to be happy, too. He’s just not sure that he can.

“She’s right you know,” Dr. Wells’s dark gaze cuts across the lab, watching Barry, finding him wanting. “You’re unfocused, and that’s dangerous.”

Barry grimaces, because whose fault is that anyway? “I’ll try not to trip in front of the bad guys.”

“You do that,” Dr. Wells replies, and Barry hates when he does this; gets soft-spoken and familiar. It’s eerily reminiscent of a person he desperately wants to forget. “It’s time to get your head in the game, Mr. Allen.”

* * *

 

Before he knew that his mentor, Harrison Wells, murdered his mother in cold blood, Barry’s eyes followed him unwittingly, inspired by his enthusiastic devotion to this giant of a man. Barry had read about him in science magazines, in newspapers and peer-reviewed journals, from his childhood on through college. He cited him in thesis papers and read his biography back to back three times.

No one ever possessed more of a claim to the title of hero, in Barry’s eyes.

Meeting the real (real, pssh, how was he supposed to know the real man had been dead for years?) Harrison Wells in person was pretty much the penultimate in cool.

Becoming a part of his team? Barry was pretty sure the lightning had actually killed him.

Maybe it had, boom, flash, right to the heart. That’s how he felt whenever Dr. Wells glanced his way, adoration and gratitude and maybe a little bit of lust all tangled inside his chest. And then, what started as simple idol worship spiraled into something else more quickly than Barry could follow.

The first night they kissed, a feeling of inevitability hung in the air. It was the briefest brush of lips that lengthened, turned frantic and wanting until that fraud who wore a dead man’s face made Barry sob his name.

It was the first encounter in a long line of them, fumbled fucks in the empty halls of the lab, or slower, more intimate nights in the glass-enclosure Wells Prime called a home.

Barry is haunted by each and every one of them, almost nightly, and he can’t figure out whether they’re nightmares or wet dreams.

More often than not, ashamedly inching his hand down the front of his boxers, he finds he doesn’t care.

* * *

 

“I need your help,” Cisco says, apparently unaware that Barry’s going through a severe existential crisis right now. He plops down in the chair next to Barry, spinning it in a full circle before declaring, “Girls like you.”

“Since when?”

“Please. You’ve been batting a thousand with Felicity and Linda and Patty. I am your padawan, teach me your ways.”

Ticking off his fingers one by one, Barry retorts, “In love with Oliver, dumped me because of Iris, and.” Barry pauses, because he doesn’t have a single argument against Patty except for how he can’t get the image of another world’s Flash fucking a Dr. Wells that was never, ever his off of his mind.

“And?” Cisco prompts, grinning. He knows he’s won.

Barry protests, “And you had Kendra.”

“Kendra left me for a man who looked like a big bird.” Cisco flaps his hands emphatically while making an entirely unattractive face. “I was actively left for a character from Sesame Street. Seriously, think about it, it’s just sad; she had a soulmate. Who wasn’t me.”

That is both a valid argument and really, really tragic. Barry offers, “Cold’s sister thinks you’re cute.”

Cisco’s mouth gapes open. “Lisa, stupid fine though she may be, is a _sociopath_. What kind of wingman are you?”

“The kind that isn’t a wingman,” Barry replies helplessly. He shoves hand through his hair and gives Cisco his best deer-trapped-in-headlights expression to really drive home how much he can’t have this conversation right now.

That works about as well as expected.

“You’re telling me,” Cisco grumbles obliviously, tracking his finger over a computer mouse. “Grodd probably gives better advice.”

“You really just came here to insult me, didn’t you?” Barry’s phone vibrates, because at least criminals like him today. It’s from Joe. “Look, there’s a body.” Barry frowns, scanning the details. “That’s dead. A dead body. That I need to go check in on.”

Cisco brightens, and honestly, Barry doesn’t get why girls aren’t into him. He’s got a smile that lights up an entire room. It makes his all of his quirks pale in comparison.

“Metahuman?”

“Human human,” Barry corrects. He thinks about Jay and Dr. Wells and says, “Cisco?”

“Yeah, Barr?” He’s already half-immersed in science, fiddling with schematics for something Barry doesn’t recognize on the screen in front of him.

“If Lisa made a play, even after everything she’s done, would you go for it?”

Cisco shrugs. “I’m principled, not dead.”

“Good to know.”

* * *

 

He thinks about Wells and Jay, wondering how they could stand to touch each other when it’s clear that hate is the primary emotion they share.

Jay seems to like Caitlin. They’re in this weird making-out-but-not-dating stasis, and Barry was rooting for him to cross the divide, even.

But now.

It’s not fair of him to judge. A part of Barry – a big part of him, actually – is still one hundred percent convinced that Iris is his soulmate.

Just. Iris doesn’t want to be his soulmate. At least not at the moment.

Rejection and betrayal are really beginning to feel like the predominant themes in Barry’s life.

If Iris chose Barry, maybe he’d be able to get Wells out of his head.

Maybe, if Caitlin officially chooses Jay, he’ll be able to keep his fucking hands _off_ what doesn’t belong to him.

Barry knows the correlation probably isn’t the same.

He still resents them both, equally and in turn. Imposter Wells, for choosing to touch and kiss and fuck someone that’s not Barry. For shredding his heart with an ease that would make the Reverse Flash seethe with envy.

For existing.

And Jay, for being the Flash. For knowing more about their powers than Barry does.

And for getting the precise thing Barry wants so damn badly.

* * *

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Joe demands, crossing his arms and looming.

He’s really good at looming, Barry’s learned. He looms and looms until all the guilt that builds up in Barry spills out of his mouth, confessions acrid on his tongue.

Usually.

Barry isn’t interested in copping up to _this_ , not quite yet. Maybe not ever, actually. Never sounds good.

He bluffs, “Girl trouble,” and ignores the way Joe’s eyes flit to Patty.

Patty who is great and also Barry’s girlfriend, maybe, possibly, if he doesn’t completely wreck it.

He’d be an idiot to mess it up with her.

Barry’s an idiot more often than he likes, these days.

* * *

 

He wasn’t supposed to have feelings, was the thing.

The inadvisable tryst with Wells Prime was comfort, mutual respect and veneration. Friendship with benefits that were never supposed to completely consume Barry’s life.

Especially not after he found out that he was never more than a chess piece to the man he’d grown to care for. But there’s this awful truth about letting people into your heart.

They have a way of staying there, long after you’ve decided you want them to go.

* * *

 

“You know, I’ve always wondered. How many pairs of Converse do you go through in a single month?”

“More than my budget likes. That’s not what I called you about, Felicity, focus.”

“God, okay. Grumpy Gus.” He can practically hear Felicity’s exasperated exhalation; the way she’s probably blowing tendrils of blonde out of her face.

A distinctly happy, male voice asks a muted question at the other end of the line. “Barry’s got drama?”

Oliver. He’s never far from her anymore. It’d be cute if it wasn’t also nauseating.

“Barry’s always got drama,” Felicity retorts, and okay, now they’re just being mean.

“I’m right here, guys. Am I on speakerphone?”

“Whaaaat?” Felicity’s voice does that thing where she is completely and totally lying. “No. I should probably mention that I’m a little out of my element with the whole doppelganger from another world thing,” Felicity tells him, the clack of keys on the other end of the line indicating that she’s also multitasking.

Barry doesn’t know whether to be miffed he doesn’t have her full focus or relieved. Felicity all at once can be…intense.

She continues, “But they still have mouths on, um, Earth-2, right? Mouths are amazing, because they allow you to talk, which is a thing you should do. With Dr. Not-So-Evil.”

“Talking doesn’t seem like the way to go.”

“Talking is always the way to go, Allen.” She sounds very stern and intimidating, which would be way more effective if Barry knew that she wouldn’t hurt a fly. “I’d probably be more helpful if you told me what it was you wanted to talk to him about.”

He has a feeling that if they were in the same room, Felicity would be giving him a meaningful look. He is often on the receiving end of those. “I’d rather not say.”

He thinks about trying to tell her the truth; that Earth-2 Wells is absolute dick, but that doesn’t stop Barry from wanting to grab fistfuls of his stupid black shirts and kiss him witless. That watching him have hate sex with Jay fucking fake-Flash Garrick is the first thing that’s gotten him so intensely hard in months. That he’s so frustrated with himself and his stupid, gullible heart that he wants to cry.

Felicity doesn’t need to know any of that. He segues, oh-so-smoothly into asking, “House-broken Oliver yet?”

“Can’t get him to stop peeing on the carpet,” Felicity quips back. “Or in this case, being stupidly brave and making me fall more madly in love with him every day.”

“Gross.”

“Jealous,” Oliver intones, and there is a wet, smacking sound that is definitely the two of them kissing. For an unnecessarily long period of time.

When it gets more awkward than he can take, Barry says. “I’m calling it. Thanks for the advice, Felicity, but I’ve got to go do a thing that doesn’t involve listening to you make out.”

“Green’s not your color, Barry,” Oliver advises, ever sanguine.

Barry cannot for the life of him figure out how to deal with the happiest vigilante in Star City, so he hangs up. The echo of Felicity’s laughter as she calls, “Good luck, Barry,” rings in his ears.

* * *

 

The new Harrison Wells saved Barry from being actual fish food.

The old Harrison Wells tried to murder people Barry loves. Clearly, they are different people.

Still, Barry finds himself cataloguing the differences between Earth-2’s Wells and his predecessor. They’re not as easy to spot as Barry would prefer.

Eobard Thawne, who paraded around under the guise of Harrison Wells’s face, watched him with unveiled fanaticism. Like Barry was the answer to an unspoken question.

It’s what drew him in in the first place; the intoxicating intensity, the heat. The absolute, unwavering belief.

The real Harrison Wells, a man from another Earth, eyes him the exact same way.

He’s more of an asshat about it, to be sure, but when it comes down to brass tacks, he keeps coming down on Barry’s side.

What is Barry even supposed to do with that? With a stranger putting such extreme faith in him?

When he finds out Patty is leaving, it’s a relief. He knows it’s not fair to her that his mind is always somewhere else.

Besides, she’s got a pantheon of issues that Barry doesn’t know how to help with. He spent his entire life hunting down his mom’s killer; he has no right to get high and mighty about her quest to avenge her dad. And she’s _better_ than him. She did the right thing in arresting Mardon, where Barry wasn’t able to with his own boogeyman. If Thawne hadn’t had the upper hand on him the day he disappeared, Barry would have kept punching until there was nothing left but a pulp.

Never mind that days past, Barry had cradled that man’s face in his hands, watched the stretch of his lips around his cock and sighed, content.

He would have killed him, even if it splintered his soul.

* * *

 

“We should get drunk, you and me.” Caitlin slings an awkward, tentative arm around Barry’s shoulders. She’s just so bad at being social. It’s adorable. “You’ve been so down lately.”

Barry’s eyes track Dr. Wells across the lab and he aches. He wonders how much it shows. “I have it on good authority that drinking when you’re depressed is the worst idea in this history of ideas.”

“Aha!” Caitlin beams. “You are down!”

“Wait, was that your idea of tricking me? Because that was sad,” Barry informs her. He watches the dark bob of Wells’s head over a microscope and swallows. “I just came from a _crime scene_. They’re depressing.”

“They’ve never bothered you before,” Caitlin challenges.

She’s not intimidating in the least, but Barry is a little worried her face will stick like that, temper rising to her pale cheeks, turning them red with heat. Seriously, he replies, “The victim had a puppy. Joe won’t let me adopt it.”

Joe’s actually the one who wanted to adopt the puppy. Barry had to remind him that it wouldn’t be fair; neither of them were home long enough to take care of a dog.

Talking his second dad out of fostering a pet was so not the way he wanted to start the day.

“Huh,” Caitlin says. “That doesn’t sound like Joe.”

Barry laughs nervously and offers, “But drinking! Sounds fun!”

“It does, doesn’t it? We haven’t been out in so long.” Caitlin adds, “I whipped you up something special in the lab. There are three vials of it in my purse.”

She lowers her voice like someone’s going to figure out she’s packing contraband, even though the only people in the lab this late are her, Barry, and Dr. Wells, who is busier science-ing than paying attention to the two of them.

Not that he’d care if he was.

“Great,” Barry says, trying his hardest to sound enthusiastic.

It passes muster. Caitlin calls, “Dr. Wells! Care to join us?”

He grunts and flaps a dismissive hand in their direction. This Dr. Wells is big on the nonverbal.

Caitlin shrugs and tells Barry, “I tried. Let’s go!”

* * *

 

No matter how quickly Barry tries to outrun what he saw, it follows him, a speed mirage he can’t quite shake. It leaves him breathless and trembling, and he’s scared that one day soon, it will deliver him on his knees to the person he’s terrified of confronting.

 _Talk to him_ , Felicity had said.

She doesn’t get that if Barry does, there won’t be anywhere left to run.

* * *

 

“Maybe. Just maybe.” Caitlin turns her mournful gaze towards Barry, biting her swollen lower lip in a perfect, pretty pout. “That last shot was a bad idea.”

“Maybe?” He asks, and he can already feel his laboratory-manufactured buzz fleeing the scene. “You drank like a champ.” Laughing, he adds, “You’ll hate everything about tomorrow.”

Caitlin flings out her arms dramatically and says, “But I love everything about tonight.” She twirls, dancing up to Barry. “Okay, I’m ready. Take me home, to my bed, and make it snappy.”

“You nearly puked on me last time.” Barry shakes his head, because there is no way he’s risking his sweater. He _likes_ his sweater. “We’re taking a cab.”

“You can’t feel the wind in your hair in cabs,” Caitlin protests.

“You can’t feel the wind in your hair when I run, either. I’m too fast.”

Barry smirks, because this is a thing he knows, a thing he’s good at. He is awesome at being fast.

“You are!” Caitlin exclaims, like this is a revelation. She’s completely, adorably sincere. “You are so fast. Good job, Barry.” Then she looks confused for a minute. “I think I’m drunk.”

“I think you’re right.”

Caitlin nods, like this is something she’s made her peace with.

Then she asks, “Barry?”

“Hmm?”

“I like Jay.”

Anger is iridescent in Barry’s veins at the very thought of Jay Garrick, but he can’t deny Caitlin the opportunity to finally spill her guts. Trying his best not to imagine Jay and Dr. Wells, naked, _oh god_ , he crosses his arms. “I know.”

“No, but I. I like Jay.”

“I still know.”

“We’ve kissed.”

Barry sighs, patiently. _Drunks_. “Everyone saw you do that. Remember?”

“More than once. Times you haven’t seen.” Caitlin bites her lower lip, blushing. “But we haven’t…um.”

“Oh, no, please do not ever finish that sentence.”

“We’re going slow.”

“Glaciers go slower, and I still don’t want to know this.”

“You don’t understand. I just. I really, really, really like Jay.” Caitlin grabs his arm, trying and failing to shake him a little. “Barry, I. Ronnie _died_. And I like Jay.”

Oh. Barry tries to get past the swell of emotion in his throat. He says, “Ronnie would understand. He’d want you to be happy.”

Her nails are digging into his arm, a little, but with that reassurance, she lets go. “Okay. Good. I hope so. Jay has nice eyes.”

“Yeah. I guess. If you’re into that.”

Barry’s aware that he sounds like the bitterest guy in Central City, but Caitlin’s too faced to notice. She smiles and tells him, “I’m into that. We should go see Jay!” She fumbles with her purse, trying and failing to unzip the pocket where she’s hidden her phone.

“That’s probably not a great idea,” Barry warns, but his mouth clearly isn’t as fast as advertised. Caitlin’s already thumbed out a text by the time the sentence ends.

The phone vibrates less than a minute later. She announces, “He’s at S.T.A.R. Labs! Can we go? _Please_ , Barry? Can we go see Jay?”

Barry wants to say no.

Barry also wants to know why Jay Garrick is at S.T.A.R. Labs at two in the morning, although he thinks he can guess. The idea blazes through him, boiling volcanic in his veins.

He wants to punch Jay Garrick in his teeth.

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Sure. Let’s go to S.T.A.R. Labs and see Jay.”

“And his nice eyes!” Caitlin cheers.

“And his nice eyes,” Barry grits out.

This is going to lead to nothing good.

* * *

 

When Eobard first kissed Barry, a feeling of inevitability hung in the air.

Because, Barry thinks, it was a fixed point in time. No matter how often he fucks with the past, that kiss will never change. It will be the one thing he holds onto throughout his life, the thing that fires him up through every encounter with the Reverse Flash. The thing he sobs over alone in the dark when he feels abandoned. The thing he aspires to, with every person who is never quite _him_.

But Harrison Wells is inevitable too. He’s an ever fixed mark.

He’s probably Barry’s downfall.

Barry still can’t let him go.

Maybe being cornered isn’t the worst thing in the world.

* * *

 

The lab is eerie at night, the ghost of a man who was never really Dr. Wells haunting its halls. Barry is reminded of secret rooms and the prison below, and he shivers without meaning to.

Caitlin dances on up ahead of him, a lilt in her steps. She’s singing a song about going to see Jay, and it’s nice to see her so pleased. Even if Barry is half-worried they’ll walk in on Jay on his knees. He can’t figure out if he wants that or not.

It would destroy Caitlin, so probably not.

She rounds the corner, dashing into the lab, and Barry could follow her in a split second. He could beat her there, but why bother? He doesn’t even want to be here.

Stupid Jay Garrick and his stupid nice eyes.

“Found him!” Caitlin’s voice rings out happily, followed by a string of words that sound like JayJayJay. Jay’s laughter is strong; it echoes down the hallway. Barry’s just stepping into the lab as they disappear, further into its bowels.

Dr. Wells is sitting at one of the computers, a perplexed expression on his face. “She’s very drunk.”

“You noticed? That PhD came in handy.”

“Why did you let her get that drunk?”

Barry holds up his hands. “I’m not her keeper.”

“We need her brain to be sharp in the morning.”

“Caitlin performs better with a hangover than most people can, um, any time.” Barry rolls his eyes. “You’re particularly uptight tonight.”

Dr. Wells blinks. “Are _you_ drunk?”

“I don’t get drunk. It sucks.”

Understanding blitzes across Dr. Wells’s features, the science behind why Barry can’t get plastered coalescing in his brain faster than most people can count to three. He mutters, “That explains why Garrick’s always such an uptight asshole.”

“Yeah, you’d know a lot about his asshole,” Barry retorts, and okay, that was childish. He wonders if Caitlin’s concoction is still in his system, but that’s pretty much impossible. Maybe he’s just been keeping this in for way too long.

“Excuse you?” Dr. Wells squints up at him. “If you have something to say, Allen, out with it.”

Barry stares back at him, refusing to man up, but refusing to back down.

Dr. Wells tells him, “Don’t be a coward. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I saw you and Garrick. Here. The other night.”

Inclining his head, Dr. Wells manages a gentle, “Ah.” He doesn’t exactly rush to defend himself. Barry doesn’t even know what he thinks needs to be defended. “That bothered you.”

It isn’t a question.

“Yeah. It really fucking bothered me,” he grits out, because there’s no reason to hide anymore.

“Do I even need to ask why?” Dr. Wells asks, and he’s got a _tone_.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your team prefers Garrick over me. I’m aware.” Dr. Wells doesn’t look particularly bothered by the admission. “I’m not the monster you remember, and my history with Jay is…complex.”

“That’s what you think?” Barry demands, incredulous. “I don’t care if you _hurt_ Jay’s feelings. He’s your universe’s rip off of me.”

It sounds arrogant, but it’s also true. Jay’s not as fast. He’s not as capable. He doesn’t have a team. He’s a good man, but he’s not the Flash. Not the real deal, anyway. Barry’s breath speeds up because he realizes he’s going to have to do this. He’s going to have to say this, out loud.

Dr. Wells glares at him, expectant. “What then?”

“I didn’t want to tell you. I was scared.” Barry takes a step forward, butting up into Wells’s personal space.

He’s sick of Barry-the-Walking-Wounded. He wants to feel things again. He breathes deep and tastes Harrison’s exhalations on his tongue.

The older man says, “Fear is just a word, Allen. Unless you let it be more.”

“Fine.” Barry touches Dr. Wells’s arm, fingers wrapping around the crook of his elbow. His skin is warm through the sleeve of his dark shirt. He smells exactly the same. Barry wonders if he’ll kiss like it too. “I want you to fuck _me_ ,” Barry tells him, defiant. “I want you.”

Wells shakes his head, dark eyes seeing all too clearly. “I’m not him. I’m not who you want me to be.”

“You are though,” Barry insists. “You’re exactly who I want right now.” He adds, “One day, you’re going to betray me too, aren’t you?”

He can feel Wells’s heat through the denim of his jeans, his hips hitching minutely against Barry’s. His breath comes out a hot pant that Barry can practically lick off his own lips. He does, and Wells follows the motion, his expression bleak. He doesn’t answer the question, pleading, “Don’t do this, Mr. Allen.”

“Barry,” Barry corrects.

“Barry. _Please_.”

Barry’s hands clench into fists, the fabric of Dr. Wells’s shirt slipping through his knuckles. He’s on his tip toes like he’s primed to run, but the only way to go is forward.

“Please,” Barry begs back at him, and he crushes their lips together.

Kissing Harrison Wells is nothing like kissing Eobard Thawne, and everything like it too. Fingers press electricity into the base of his spine, humming through Barry’s bones as Dr. Wells surges back to meet him, the kiss a slick slide of mouths that ends the same way it began; with Barry wanting more.

“Why would you do that?” Harrison asks quietly, tracing one finger along the line of Barry’s jaw, the other still weighted possessively at Barry’s hips. He isn’t pushing Barry away. He isn’t going anywhere. “Now we can’t go back.”

Something sharp prickles in Barry’s heart, at odds with the contended glow that’s finally melting over him. He buries his face against Harrison’s neck, mouthing along his pulse points, and says, “I don’t want to.”

Voice nearly a whisper, Harrison says, “Barry.”

Barry fits their hips more tightly together, making sure that Harrison can feel the way he’s straining against his jeans. Out loud he murmurs, “Take me home, Dr. Wells. Show me everything you did to him.”

Harrison groans and presses their mouths together, dragging the kiss slow and hot against Barry’s lips until he’s practically whimpering. He promises, “With you, I can make it better.”

Barry runs his hands across Harrisons’ shoulder blades.

He says, “I’m counting on it.”


End file.
